The Keeper

by T F Allen

  “Jolene?”

  The woman seemed paralyzed by the sound of her name, but only for a second. She turned and bolted down the hall, heading for the stairs.

  Hannah put her knife away and chased after Jolene. Everything she’d suspected was true and more. But she didn’t have time to think about it.

  She hoped Sister Mary Elizabeth would follow. But even if she didn’t, Hannah was committed. Jolene was the only piece of evidence they needed to get the cops’ attention. Anyone who saw her face would forget about search warrants and protocols. Harkrider was a monster in every sense of the word. She didn’t want to think about all the things he must have done to this woman.

  She chased Jolene down two flights of stairs. They ran across the foyer and out the front door. Off the porch and across the narrow lawn. Before she knew it, they were sprinting down the access road and into the vineyard.

  “Hannah!” Sister Mary Elizabeth’s voice called out from somewhere behind us. Hannah turned. The nun had somehow made it out of the mansion. She was running across the lawn, legs and arms pumping, but she looked out of breath.

  “Call the captain!” Hannah refocused on her target. Jolene’s golden hair was easy to track. It caught just enough moonlight to stand out against the darkness of the dirt and the vines. As they raced under the night sky, Hannah asked Mercury to send her more speed. She was making up ground, but not enough to catch her anytime soon.

  Jolene darted down an access road, then took a hard left between two rows of vines. Hannah didn’t blame her for running. If she’d been the one cut and tortured for seven years, she might run at the sight of an intruder, too. As she chased after Jolene, she heard her wailing. It was a sad, desperate cry, the cry of someone who’d run out of hope a long time ago.

  Jolene was also running out of energy, it seemed. Over the next fifty yards, Hannah closed the gap. She dove forward, wrapped her arms around Jolene’s waist, and pulled her to the ground.

  Holding Jolene in her arms, she noticed how thin this woman was. The bones of her rib cage shook as she sobbed through her breaths.

  “Don’t worry,” Hannah said. “No one’s going to hurt you. We’re here to save you.”

  Jolene didn’t answer, didn’t move. She just lay there in the dirt, even after Hannah sat up and brushed herself off.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  This woman looked and acted like a shell of an actual person. She didn’t resist when Hannah pulled her to a sitting position, but she also didn’t try to wipe the dirt from her face. Her tears had stopped, but she wouldn’t make eye contact. Instead she looked far off down the row.

  “That guy’s an absolute bastard. How did you survive with him this long?”

  Jolene tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hand shook so badly Hannah reached out and grabbed it again.

  “Everything’s going to be fine. We’re calling the cops and getting you out of here, I promise. I just need to know one thing first.”

  “I knew you’d come back,” Jolene said.

  “You what?”

  “Michael told me. He warned me, asked me to run when I saw you.”

  Hannah’s mind spun. “Wait, you talked to Delacroix? He’s here? And he—how did he know we were coming? And why would he tell you to run?”

  “I don’t know how he knew, but he did. He wanted me to lead you as far away as possible.”

  “Away from what?” She looked around. “Where is he?”

  “Not where you think. You won’t find him in that house.”

  One last time, I sent Hannah an image of the trapdoor set in the ground. And now, finally, it made total sense. She studied the image and drew a quick conclusion. “He’s locked underground somewhere. Somewhere in this vineyard.”

  Jolene turned toward Hannah. The moonlight reflected off the bruise near her eye. “How did you know that?”

  “I’m cosmically connected.”

  Judging from the look on Jolene’s face, Hannah’s comment was lost on her. But it didn’t matter. Hannah knew the truth. She’d felt the Universe’s power more than ever these last two days. According to Jolene, Delacroix had experienced it, too. That was an important confirmation. One she’d make sure to ask him about after she got everyone away from here.

  “Are you going to run again?”

  Jolene shook her head.

  “We need to find my partner. She’s probably already called the captain, but we need to make sure.”

  “You mean the nun?”

  “Yeah.” Hannah stood and offered a hand to Jolene. “She’s dedicated, but not a fast runner.”

  Together they ran back down the row. In the distance, the mansion towered over the vineyard. Hannah guessed their chase had taken them at least two hundred yards away. That was a long distance for Sister Mary Elizabeth to run. She probably only made it a third of the way before she had to slow down and walk, which meant she was probably wandering the access road.

  When they reached the road, Jolene stopped. “I don’t see her.”

  “Maybe she got lost.” Hannah pointed her flashlight down the road back toward the mansion. Nothing. Then she checked as far in the other direction as her flashlight beam would shine. She pointed. “There she is.”

  She sprinted toward what she thought was the light from the nun’s small flashlight, but when she got closer, she realized it was something else. Something small and shiny reflecting in the beam of her own flashlight.

  She fell to her knees. Grabbed the object and held it to her face. “No way. No fucking way.”

  Jolene ran up from behind. “What is it?”

  “It’s my goddamn smartphone.” Hannah stared at the cracked screen, turned it over, pushed every button she could push. It was toast, completely smashed and missing its battery. She threw it as far as she could.

  “Oh no,” Jolene said. “He’s got her.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Hannah punched the ground. Jolene bit her lip as hard as her numbed senses would let her. I soared into the sky in a burst of rage at how clueless I’d been—beaten again by Donnie and the voice that guided him.

  Sister Mary Elizabeth was gone, and it was all my fault. I shouldn’t have risked her safety by leading her here after I saw how dangerous Donnie really was. I’d been too focused on finding a quick way out for everyone. I’d looked into the eyes of a serpent, thinking I was faster. And when I blinked, it stole away the weakest of us.

  She needed me right now. And though I’d never heard the voice of God, I knew He wanted me to run to her. Even if I couldn’t help, even if I was as useless as I’d been for most of this night, at least she wouldn’t be alone.

  Focus. Lock. Pull.

  Darkness everywhere. One strong, monstrous hand gripping her arm, another pushing against the small of her back, forcing her to run faster than she ever could on her own. Grass and dirt under her feet, moving at a dizzying speed. The left side of her face stinging and throbbing in time with her pulse. She tripped, but he held her up, keeping her from falling.

  No one had touched her like this before. Her father was always kind and gentle, and the clothes of her faith protected her from those who otherwise might have tried to hurt her. But Donnie Harkrider was different—rougher and dirtier and scarier than anyone she’d ever met. He was everything that disgusted her about the opposite sex.

  He pushed her deeper into the vineyard. Her veil was gone, smacked off her head somewhere along the way. She kept her hair in a short bob so it was easier to manage, but now some of it fell into her face. A few strands stuck against her cheek. It was a weird sensation. She felt so naked and exposed.

  “Keep moving, you lying bitch.” Donnie wouldn’t stop pushing her. She was terrible with directions, but they were headed away from the mansion. That much she knew. The vineyard seemed to go on forever. She thought they’d never reach the end of this row. And then she realized she didn’t want the row to end. He could only be taking her out this far for one reason.

 
I knew she believed she was already dead. All that was left was the act of killing. She couldn’t see any hope. It was up to me to show it to her.

  You’re not alone, Portia.

  Her legs and her mind stumbled over my words. Donnie caught her again and pushed her forward. But her worry had changed into wonder. She recognized my voice as the same one she’d heard in her cell, at Michael’s apartment, and in the church in San Francisco. I even used her given name, hoping it would help her trust me.

  I won’t let him kill you. I promise you’ll make it if you just fight back.

  Sister Mary Elizabeth treated my words like a message from God, but she doubted how much good it would do. Donnie was impossibly stronger than she was. He was a bully, the kind of person she tried to keep away from Michael. She could never win a physical battle with him. Her only hope was a battle of wills.

  All at once she went to her knees. The move was so sudden Donnie’s momentum pushed her into the dirt. He stumbled over her and rolled to a stop.

  As quickly as he fell, he was back on his feet, leaning over her and yelling, “You want to be difficult? Fine, let’s be difficult.” He opened his hand and slapped the side of her face. It stung like fire and rocked her equilibrium, knocking her back to the ground.

  Ignoring the pain, she climbed back to her knees and folded her hands together. She closed her eyes and tried to block everything out. It was the only way she could fight him, the only thing she knew.

  “You think that will help?” Donnie’s words came from somewhere above her head, raining down on her face and mixed with his foul-smelling spittle. “You’re the one who caused this. You won’t leave me alone—sneaking onto my property, trampling through my vineyard, breaking into my house. And after all that, you try to call the cops on me?”

  Even with her eyes closed, she could tell he was inches from her. She could smell his earthy sweat, feel the heat coming from his body. Everything about him was terrifying. But still she refused to move.

  “I know why you’re here. You think you can save him, but you’re wrong. Delacroix will always be mine.”

  Her eyelids fluttered at the mention of Michael’s name. She couldn’t help it. The boy meant too much to her. It pained her to think he’d had to endure the wrath of this man since he disappeared. She hoped he wasn’t already dead somewhere. Hoped Donnie wasn’t keeping his body as a trophy like the skeleton she saw in the mansion.

  He whispered into her ear, “Who is he to you anyway? Are you a fan? Are you family? Wait—are you his mother?”

  It was all she could do not to slap him back. Anger and disgust burned inside her, but she fought to keep them hidden. She turned to God instead and thanked him for sending an angel to be with her in this dark hour. She hadn’t said a word to this man, and she never would again. If he killed her for her silence, so be it. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing her speak.

  “I don’t care who you are. But if you really want to find him, I’ll help.”

  His shoulder rammed into her midsection, and his arms wrapped around her knees, heaving her up and over his shoulder. All she could see were his legs and the fast-moving ground beneath them. They were on the move again.

  He carried her for what seemed like minutes, her hips bouncing against his shoulders and her blood pounding in her head. Finally he stopped, knelt, and flipped her onto the ground. The back of her head hit the soft dirt. The impact stunned her for a second.

  “Don’t make me chase you.”

  They’d reached the far corner of the property. The mansion was barely visible now. Set into the ground beside her was a wooden door with an iron handle. Donnie pulled it up and over its hinges with one hand. A faint light escaped from the space below. She leaned closer and noticed a set of steps leading down to some kind of chamber.

  “Are you coming, or do I have to throw you in?” Donnie said.

  Sister Mary Elizabeth got to her feet and stared across the vineyard. The ground where she stood was the highest point on the property. Under the moonlit sky, she could see all the way to the parking lot in front of the winery. Somewhere between there and here, Hannah was looking for her. She made the sign of the cross, prayed Hannah would follow the right stars and somehow save them all from this mess. It was a selfish prayer, she knew. But she prayed it anyway. When she finished, she took one last look over the property, then ducked her head and took the steps underground. Donnie followed close behind.

  The steps were narrow and steep. She turned her feet sideways to make sure she wouldn’t fall. When she reached the bottom, she looked up and saw a short hallway. The walls were made of cinder blocks. This must be some type of cellar, but it couldn’t be. She didn’t see any wine, and there wasn’t any other reason to build a cellar in a vineyard.

  Another push from Donnie sent her to the end of the short hall. She saw an overturned wooden stool and a barred gate made of shiny steel. And on the other side of the bars, the precious boy she’d rescued many years ago.

  She burst into tears at the sight of him—a paintbrush in his hand, a thick leather band fitted tight around his neck, his hair greasy and flat against his head. He looked thinner than she remembered, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was alive.

  “Sister Mary.” Michael dropped his brush, reached through the gate, and grabbed her with both arms. She let him pull her close, didn’t care about the bars between them. She didn’t feel them at all. For a moment there was no Donnie, no strange underground cellar, no hate and no fear, no reason to doubt that everything would work out. There was nothing but her and the boy she loved more than anything in this dark and lonely world.

  “What did he do to you?” Michael said.

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  His voice cracked as he spoke. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “My dear, I couldn’t stay away.”

  A loud tapping sound above her head pulled our attention back to Donnie. He held a small metal device in his hand, and he clanged it against the bars longer than he needed to. “Back against that wall, Delacroix.”

  She felt the life drain out of Michael’s arms as he let her go and did what Donnie said.

  “Now you,” Donnie said to her. “Take three steps back.”

  For the first time, she caught a clear view of Donnie’s face under the lights. Splotches of dark blood had been smeared on his cheeks. No telling how it got there or whose it was. She took three steps back.

  Donnie dug out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the gate to Michael’s prison. He lunged for her, grabbed her before she could resist, and flung her into the cell.

  The gate slammed closed, and Donnie turned the key. “If you have anything else to say to each other, you better make it quick. I’ll be right back.”

  CHAPTER 29

  No matter how hard Sister Mary Elizabeth fought, I knew Donnie would still throw her into that cell. The only reason I asked her to resist was to give Hannah more time. I hoped she’d found a way to call the police. After Donnie slammed the door on Michael and the nun, I left to check for myself.

  When I opened my eyes, I was in the formal dining room of the Harkrider mansion, the one with the huge table and the china cabinet and the oversized crown molding. The house was totally quiet. Then the back door slammed open.

  “How can there not be a phone?” Hannah said. “This is a mansion.”

  I joined her as she charged through the dining room and into the main hall. Her mind was hot with urgency. Each second she wasted was one more Sister Mary Elizabeth and Delacroix had to spend under Harkrider’s control. There was no way to know how many they had left.

  Jolene followed Hannah into the hall, her stare as distant as ever. “Donnie didn’t want any here. He only keeps a mobile for himself.”

  “What about weapons? Are there any guns in the house?”

  Jolene shook her head. “He says they’re too impersonal.”

  Hannah ran down a short hallway and int
o a kitchen. She pulled open every drawer and cabinet she could reach, still unsure what she was searching for. Without a phone, they couldn’t call the cops. And running would take too long. By the time she reached someone who could help, Sister Mary Elizabeth and Delacroix would be either gone or dead. She needed to find another way.

  I sent her an image that wasn’t from my memory. It wasn’t like anything I’d sent before, but I knew she’d understand.

  Hannah went back through the drawers in the kitchen, searching through tongs and spatulas, trivets and pot holders, forks, knives, aluminum foil, turkey basters, Scotch tape, and napkin rings. Now she knew what she was looking for. The Universe would make sure it was here.

  In the next drawer, she found what she needed. She tucked it into her pocket and ran to the bathroom Sister Mary Elizabeth had used. She grabbed every towel she could find and gathered them in her arms. “Where’s the bar?”

  “This way.” Jolene led her into the study. She ran up to a large double-sided bookshelf in the middle of the room. She pushed a button set into the wood. A hidden cabinet slid out from the side. It was stocked with several bottles of alcohol.

  Hannah looked over the options: Grey Goose, Patrón, Cîroc, Tanqueray, Macallan, Chivas Regal, Johnnie Walker Blue, and three bottles of Harkrider Reserve Cabernet. She threw the towels in a pile on a Persian rug and grabbed the bottle of Macallan. “Stand back.”

  “What are you doing?” Jolene said.

  “Making a three-story bonfire.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “No time to argue. He’ll kill them both unless we do something drastic.”

  “But how does this help?”

  Hannah opened the bottle and soaked the towels with whiskey. “It tells him we’re not running away and that we won’t be alone much longer.”